Fortune's Fool
by Ed's Tomato
Summary: An unexpected mutant father deals with the trials and tribulations that title entails. A sense of responsibility and a deep seated need for belonging prompts the infamous man into the uncharted waters of parenthood. Toad.


_A/N: After putting up my last one shot of superdooper darkness, I was in the mood for a little more fluff. Be warned though, this story will not be all cuddliness and cutes. Even the most prepared of us make mistakes raising children and Toad has no one to model his behavior after. Though at times he will be a conscientious and caring parent at others he will be downright cruel and negligent. I know, I know, I already started that other one with Tabby and Toad gettin' knocked up. You could say I have babies on the brain at the moment. This one should be considerably different than the other however (which I'm aware I've not updated) which is told from Meltdown's point of view (Story entitled Bump) and in a lighter more humerous vein._

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**Fortune's Fool  
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**Chapter One:**

Holding the screaming blotchy mess of tiny arms and legs, Mortimer Toynbee was struck with the fierce desire to dash it's brains out on the floor. The life it had to look forward to was not going to be an easy one. The infant's mother lay before him, shuddering with the final death spasms as her blood's rhythmic pump slowed and finally stopped.

In anger, Mortimer wanted to remind her that she was a whore and a stupid one at that. Only calling him when the labor pains had taken a turn for the worst, knowing he'd no experience delivering a child, nor would that experience have saved her when something went wrong. The light in her eyes dimmed as he stood over her, blood and birth fluids running down his forearms from the still screaming babe.

The last few moments of her life flittered across his vision in empathy. The searing pain that shot up her spine as she forced herself to push, the sickening tear, the wail of her child as everything started to dim around her. He left bloody fingerprints as he leaned down to close her eyes. Juggling the child, he managed to take off his jacket and wrap the newborn in it, cradling the tiny creature to his chest and looking down at it with a sigh.

"Won't be easy, mate."

It was three months before he thought to name it, delving into the job of solo parent with uncertain hands. He kept it quiet with bottle and pacifier, changed it's diapers without protest and stormed in looking like murder when it cried. He named it James. His middle name and the only thing he could think of. The boy was healthy, despite the odds, his big gold eyes bright like his father's, and the wisps of hair on his head a bright green. There was no denying the genetic heritage, despite how the man known as Toad might have wanted to.

The first few months were not difficult for Mort as they often were for most new parents. He didn't find the menial labor necessary to keep the child alive all that trying. He rarely slept through the night himself, so the child's sleep schedule came as no inconvenience. He was used to dealing out violent death and torture, so the changing of diapers was nothing terribly stressful. It was akin to having a little cooing pet, and Mort thought he didn't mind it so very much.

It wasn't until the pudgy little boy started to get older that Toad truly began to resent this intrusion into his life. At nine month the boy had learned the tantrum and it was trying the assassin's patience. He wanted sweets. His father wasn't bothered with good nutrition, and didn't think about instilling it in his son. Instead, Toad used the promise of treats to get him to do what he wanted. If he got a shot he got a cookie, if he stopped crying he got a cookie. Of course, that made the boy start crying FOR cookies, and that Toad wouldn't stand for.

Refusing to cater to the tantrum of a nine month old, he ignored the boy, leaving him to wail for hours. Seeing to his physical needs made sense to Toad, but the emotional ones did not. It wasn't as though he had his own parents to base it on. He checked in on him hours later, where he sat in his crib, face red from the screaming and snot trails down his upper lip. He was shaking, eyes still wet with tears and gazing up imploringly at his father.

Strong hands used to rough work, lifted the boy from the crib and carried him to Toad's bed to change. His little legs kicked and earned a slap from the impatient father before he was wiped down and rediapered.

"You hungry, James?"

The infant burbled at his father and he let his head rest against the man's collar bone, little fingers grasping. He was sad and teary still from being spanked and ignored all day, but the little bit of comfort his Father offered him now was enough to begin to make amends. A small sucking mouth wrapped around his father's dirty collar and the man tugged it away with a scowl, "Y'old enough for real food, James, no more bottle." He was ready for the boy to grow up and become self sufficient. He couldn't be a nursemaid to him forever.

Setting James in his high chair, Toad settled before him with a jar of baby food and some honey nut cheerios, seeing that he ate. Regardless of the efforts the boy cried, "Baba," time and again, fingers desperately outstretched, and tried to refuse the jar food. Toad scowled at his son, arms tensed as he tried to count backward from a hundred to keep his patience but finally he reached out and pinched the baby's nose shut and waited until his lips parted to breathe before roughly spooning in a helping of his food. As soon as the nose was released the baby started to wail like a banshee.

"FINE!" Toad roared at the child, "DON'T EAT!" He lurched up from his seat and stalked away, punching the wall while the boy hiccuped and cried himself sick, puking what little he'd eaten all over the front of his chest.

Seeing that threw a bucket of ice water over his father, and Mort approached the boy to scoop him out of his seat and cradle him close.

"It's alright, lad. It's alright. M'sorry. Daddy's sorry," He sighed and carried the still crying child over to fix a quick bottle for him to enjoy on the way to the bathtub to clean up. He left the child in diapers most of the time unless it got chilly. No reason to do more laundry than necessary. Stripping them both naked, he turned the faucet to warm and climbed in, bottle and all.

The child was far happier now, sucking greedily and sitting in his father's lap in the few inches of water. He liked to kick his little feet and watch the water splash and then look up for approval.

Toad liked bathtime. He'd always found it relaxing, although he'd once brought a bottle of jack instead of a bottle of milk and an infant in with him. But, this was special. The soft innocent baby's skin was flawless and protected seated on his lap and happy. He was an eager, excited child here, eyes wide and fingers and toes exploring. Toad caressed the soft hair that feathered over his little dome when he looked up for approval at the splashing, and gave him a smile. Here is where he let himself love his son. Here is where things felt safe and good and promising.

"Better then?"

Pudgy digits wrapped around the bottle and he sucked at it noisily as James looked up at his father. The joy in his gold eyes was simple and without equal. Toad marveled sometimes at how small his son was. How incredibly fragile. Toad didn't mind his messes most of the time, when they weren't intentional. He never minded when his body flailed around in the suds and sent sprays of water over the side and onto the tile. The child's happiness was good to see, even though Toad was usually too distracted with work to influence the mood.

They stayed in the tub for longer than Toad should have, as he soaked in the purity and sweetness of his one and only child. James wore himself out playing and soothed himself with his bottle, laying back against his father's hard chest. Toad recognized the sleepy way James's eyes blinked and contented himself with rubbing a warm palm in small circles over his smooth back until the boy had fallen asleep and the bottle slipped forgotten into the cooling bathwater. He was silent as he lifted his child up and out of the water and carried him to the mattress for a quick diapering. Agile fingers had it fastened without waking him, and when the baby shivered he carefully dressed James in a fuzzy pair of pajamas.

He had work to do but was reluctant to leave this peaceful scene he so rarely was invited to partake in. Resting on his mattress, he pulled the child over his chest and let him sleep there, little back rising and falling with each breath that warmed his skin. The television was on and he'd intended to watch something but he found himself studying his son instead. The slope of his angelic round face, framed by soft green curls. Long dark lashes that set gently against apple cheeks. Toad wondered if his boy would be cursed with malformed teeth and warts as his father was. Jack's skin looked more human, so he could entertain the fantasy that the boy would have it easier.

Sleep came to him finally as the show ended, and his hand never left his son's back to keep him secure and unconsciously monitor his continued breathing.


End file.
